


Nine Months and I Still Hate You

by timkons



Series: commissions [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Love/Hate, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timkons/pseuds/timkons
Summary: Nine times Jon says, “I hate you,” and Damian says, “happy to hear that,” during Jon’s pregnancy.





	Nine Months and I Still Hate You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Albilibertea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albilibertea/gifts).



> commission based on albi's fantastic art and headcanon [here](https://drenched-in-sunlight.tumblr.com/post/159644292090/doodling-based-on-the-preview-of-super-sons-3-i)! if you're interested in me writing a piece for you, [check out my commissions post](https://90stimkon.tumblr.com/post/162750545663/commission-me).

Jon remembers all the times he’s said, “I hate you,” in his life, and he can count them on a single hand. At least he could before Damian came into his life.

Hate is an ugly, ugly thing, and Jon doesn’t like to be consumed by it. Growing up, his dad stressed the importance of forgiveness and patience, and Jon tried his best to be just like his dad, but there were still a few times where his anger got the best of him. He was careful to forgive and apologize not long after, but he’d still mentally kick himself for even saying the words out loud.

Jon isn’t even kicking himself in the head this time, no, he’s trying to contain his full rage. Jon looks down at the little stick in his hands and tries his best not to yell, “I hate you,” across Damian’s penthouse.

-

“That was good,” Jon sighs blissfully, falling against the pillows. His grin is lazy and his muscles are loose and pliant, relaxed from his orgasm and the warmth of his lover.

Damian doesn’t roll out of bed and jump into the night without a single word like he used to, but he still arches a brow critically whenever Jon questions his sexual prowess, same as he used to do when they first started to fool around. “Just ‘good?’”

“Awesome. That was awesome,” Jon teases back. He rolls on his side to face Damain, and Damian remains in place, even snaking an arm around Jon’s waist to hold him closer. They’re closer than they used to be, and when Jon sleeps at night, he dreams of them being like this forever, bumping noses, Damian brushing stray strands of hair out of his face, and matching rings on both of their left hands. “Fantastic. Wonderful. Excellent. Sensational. Far out. Out of this world. The cat’s meow. The bee’s knees. The--”

“I get it,” Damian says curtly, blushing a little bit as he begins to tickle Jon to deflect attention from his feelings. Jon throws his head back, screaming and squirming and wrestling on Damian’s covers that cost more than what Jon earns in a month as his alias, until Damian pulls him close, spooning him from behind. They’ve already gone at it once, but Damian’s hot breath against his ear makes him shiver. “‘The bee’s knees’? Really, Kent?”

Jon shrugs and likes the way his shoulder bumps up against Damian’s muscles. “It means, ‘the height of excellence.’”

“I know what it means,” Damian snaps, but he’s lovingly placing short kisses along Jon’s shoulder, and eventually he nuzzles his face into the crook of Jon’s neck. “Up for another round, beloved?”

“Always,” Jon immediately responds breathlessly, rolling his hips ever-so-gently against Damian’s, where not five minutes ago, they were joined. “Remember to roll on a new condom.”

Damian’s palms roaming Jon’s chest still and his breath hitches for a second, nothing noticeable to human senses but perfectly clear to Supersenses.

Jon looks over his shoulder to his boyfriend’s expressionless face -- the trained, expressionless face that Damian only uses when he intentionally wants to mask his true feelings -- and his eyes narrow. “Damian. You did remember to put on a condom, right? We both agreed we didn’t want what happened to Tim and Kon to happen to us.”

“They were reckless,” is Damian’s only response. Jon sighs loudly.

“Oh my god. Get off, I have to take a shower now.”

“No, you don’t. Stay,” Damian says a bit too seriously. Jon watches him carefully, watches his jaw clench and the way Damian gently runs his fingertips down Jon’s arm, from shoulder to elbow, where he hooks his hand around Jon’s bone and muscle. “It’s fine. Statistics posit that there’s approximately a twenty percent chance of pregnancy, and there’s even less chance of conception with your Kryptonian biology. You’re not going to get pregnant just because we forgot one time.”

“Because _you_ forgot,” Jon corrects, but he doesn’t protest moving away from Damian’s embrace any more. Damian’s right; it’s just one time. “I hate you,” he says, but it’s with fondness.

Damian grins and pushes Jon onto his chest, one hand already rubbing Jon’s loose hole. “Happy to hear it.”

-

“I hate you!” is the first thing Jon yells, throwing the stick from his palm so hard it would make a mini-crater in cement. It hits the back of Damian’s head, who lets out a hard, ‘ack!’ and barrels over from the force of the trust, but Jon’s hands are curled by his side, fisted as he holds the tears back.

Damian’s first instinct, predictably, is to glare over his shoulder and seethe out a, “you’re going to regret that, _Kent_.”

His next reactions, which Jon also anticipates, is to research what exactly hit him. It isn’t so strange, especially after they’ve been dating for so long, for Damian to do that, though Jon holds his breath and waits.

Damian finds the plastic soon enough, sniffing it and backing away with a disgusted expression, no doubt from the smell of urine. Damian glaring at the piece of pink plastic with a confused expression, Jon watches as his face both softens and hardens as he takes in the results.

“Happy to hear it,” Damian eventually breathes, opening his arms from where he’s seated on the ground, and Jon collapses in them, crying from relief and stress. He thought for sure Damian would break things off once he saw the little plus mark sealing their future.

-

They’re committed, even though they don’t talk about it. Damian doesn’t offer to terminate the pregnancy and doesn’t freak out when Jon rubs his stomach, which is enough on both ends to come to the agreement that the baby isn’t going anywhere.

It’s only in the mornings where Jon has to run -- or fly, to be perfectly honest -- to the bathroom and heave over the toilet that it really settles in that this is _real_. Two months in and it finally _feels_ real, things happening to Jon’s body that he can’t control. Jon holds both hands on either side of the toilet seat, looking into his own reflection in the water, sullied by the dinner he hurled out moments ago, and he feels his eyes prickle with tears. This isn’t how he planned this to go, the whole pregnancy thing.

“Are you okay?” Damian asks, yawning, as he appears at the entrance of his ridiculously fancy bathroom.

Jon throws the best glare he can over his shoulder before turning back to the toilet, dry heaving something his stomach doesn’t have to provide. “Just peachy.”

Damian hums, making his way toward Jon, and before Jon knows it, there’s a firm warmth on one of his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down and patting his spine every now and then. “You’re doing great, beloved.”

“I hate you,” Jon says between heaves, glaring at Damian’s soft, smiling expression in the water.

Damian pinches his neck in a fond way, and whispers into Jon’s ear, “Happy to hear it.”

-

“I hate you,” Jon says, practically crying. They’re both seated in bed and Jon is rubbing his barely noticeable stomach, both from the cramps and the pain of craving, eyes clenched so hard he thinks he might become delirious.

“Happy to hear it,” Damian says idly, more out of instinct than truly being aware, as he turns to the next page on his hologram. He’s reading one of his father’s reports right now, Jon knows, but it doesn’t help with the paranoia that has come with Jon’s pregnancy.

“Should have known,” Jon says bitterly, and he both looks away and steals the blankets so that only he’s wrapped up in a burrito, glaring at Damian’s perfectly non-peeling wallpaper.

He hears Damian suck in a breath, the holog click as it shuts down, and Damian setting aside the device to the nightstand. He then hears Damian shuffle against his perfectly chosen, custom-made, 1800-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and the petty part of him preens. “What is it now, Kent?”

“The baby wants deep-fried pickles,” he pouts. Now into three months of his pregnancy, the cravings have hit harder than he ever expected.

Damian sighs audibly, but his weight shifts over to pet along Jon’s arms -- close enough that his hot breath makes Jon squirm when it tickles his neck. “Then tell the A.I. and it will make you some.”

“The baby wants _you_ to make it,” Jon insists, now curling into himself. There’s no telling how much longer he’ll have before he’s unable to lay on his stomach as a tactic to buff Damian away, but he needs to use it as long as possible. “And to dip it in ketchup and mayo.”

 _“Seriously?”_ Damian’s voice drips with incredulity.

“Seriously,” Jon confirms.

There’s no movement for a good few moments, but Jon looks over his shoulder and sees Damian watching him with his hard, unamused expression. “Fine. I’ll make you the fried pickles. Anything else?”

“Oreos. Handmade.”

 _“Fine._ Anything _else?”_

“Nope,” Jon says happily, rubbing his stomach. He grins like the cat who caught the canary as Damian slinks out of bed with a grumble, but he doesn’t mind. Damian wouldn’t be doing this for just anybody except one he loves.

-

Jon looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. He turns this way, and then that. Then, he turns to another angle, hoping it makes himself look slimmer. He keeps rubbing his baby bump in assurance, but his lips are curled into a bitter frown, and he holds himself back from crying. He may be four months pregnant, but he shouldn’t be showing _this_ much!

“Kon never showed this much,” Jon spits, rubbing his stomach and pulling his shirt down over the bump of his belly. He hears Damian approach him from behind, but he does nothing, allowing Damian to embrace him from behind. He needs the reassurance right now. “I look huge.”

“You look pregnant,” Damian corrects. He reaches up for the hem of Jon’s shits and tugs it experimentally to see if it will cover the crest of the little bit of skin showing the base of Jon’s tummy. “They baby’s outgrown this. We need to go shopping.”

“I hate you,” Jon says before he even realizes what he’s saying. The balls of his palms are already pressed against his eyeballs and he’s breathing so hard that even his stomach lifts and settles with every breath.

“Happy to hear it,” Damian says, gently, as he pries away Jon’s wrists. Jon’s still crying tears he can’t under understand why he’s crying; the mood swings are awful and it feels like it isn’t his body anymore, as much as he hates to admit it. “I love you. Do you know that, Kent?”

Tears in his eyes and deep sniffs of snot holding back his breath, Jon nods. He _knows_ , even if his body keeps insisting he’s too fat for Damian. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Damian says with an air of finality. He kisses Jon’s neck, rubbing down the front of his body, where his chest is beginning to fill out with milk, and down his stomach, where the bump proves just how much Damian loves Jon. “You’re filling out beautifully. Don’t let anybody let you believe otherwise, even yourself. You’re gorgeous, and you’re providing for our child, Jon.”

Jon does his best to smile from the rare use of his first name, but Damian neither smiles nor frowns. His eyes have pure sincerity in them, like he wants Jon to see exactly what he sees. It’s no use; they have never met eye-to-eye, not as children and not as adults, but Jon thinks he can bring himself to believe Damian this time.

-

“Keep going, keep going, y- _yessssss,_ ” Jon breathes out. When he finally hits five months, sex begins to become a challenge, but it’s not one he’d give up willingly. Damian insisted on having Jon ride him, but between being too embarrassed by his weight and Damian’s insistence that he’d be fine however Jon wanted, prioritizing Jon’s and the baby’s comfort over his own, Jon couldn’t deny that he still preferred being on his back, Damian between his legs and fucking him relentlessly. The one thing Damian refuses to budge on is taking his time to prepare Jon, and it makes Jon’s toes curl and his head spin from how _long_ it takes.

“You’re gorgeous,” Damian breathes.

“I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” Damian breathes.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Damian breathes.

Jon knows it’s all sex-fueled and hormones, but his body feels tingly with want, and he does his best to ride Damian’s hand as much as Damian fucks him. Pregnancy has made him incredibly horny, and he’s no longer even ashamed when his baby bump presses against Damian’s flat stomach, especially when Damian’s fingertips are consecutively pressing against his prostate. “M-More.”

“Sure you want this?” Damian says cheekily, lowering himself down flat against Jon. Jon normally likes it when Damian takes charge and fucks him thoroughly, but with pregnancy, he’s come to appreciate Damian making him aware at every moment of his changing body.

“I’m sure,” Jon insists, and, blessedly, Damian is careful to lower himself on Jon, his hand roaming everywhere he normally doesn’t let his hands roam.

“You’re beautiful,” Damian breathes against him, hips bucked and erection hard and waiting against Jon.

Jon hates what a whale he feels like, barely able to move from being heavy from Damian’s child, but he does his best to wiggle his hips enticingly, wanting this just as badly, if not more. Seriously, Jon doesn’t think it’s a stretch to say he might _die_ if Damian’s dick isn’t inside of him within the next 100 seconds, and yes, he _is_ counting them down. “Hurry up.”

Damian obliges, replacing his fingers, wet from Kryptonian biology, a tip given from Tim and Kon but figured out themselves, with his dick, and Jon throws his head back with a happy sigh. It’s only when Damian is inside of him that he feels complete and full and sated lately. It doesn’t hurt that one of Damian’s hands is cupping one of his newly developed breasts, sore and tender from the milk that will feed their child.

“Don’t tease me,” Jon begs as Damian’s fingertip rubs over a nipple, but he’s arching into the feeling.

“But you love it,” Damian taunts, and Jon can’t deny that. Damian’s face dips against his chest, kissing alongside the curve of his newly developed breasts, all the way up to his nipple, and Jon squirms, wanting more but refusing to beg for it; it’s not like he has to, not with the way Damian kisses the hard nub of his nipple, beginning to suck.

It’s not the first time Damian has sucked on one of his breasts, but Jon’s hips buck and he sighs in pleasure, unable to contain himself. With the way Damian’s hand squeezes, breaking up the milk, and the way he sucks, it brings a pleasure Jon never knew he could encounter. _“Damian.”_

Damian smiles so hard that Jon feels it against his chest even before Damian pulls away with a grin that proves just how much he enjoyed himself. Damian doesn’t seem to realize it, but Jon is petrified with how his smile is covered in Jon’s milk. “Like that, do you, Kent?”

“You… You have,” Jon begins, but one of Damian’s fingers is pressed against his lips.

“Shh. Nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is providing adequate nutrients to our baby,” he reasons, but Jon’s cheeks grow hot and angry.

“You’re covered-- in my-- no!”

“I like it,” Damian admits, even as Jon fights him, and Jon wants to scream. His breast milk is smeared on half of Damian’s face, and he has never been so embarrassed in his entire life.

“Stop!” Jon protests, and ever the dedicated lover, Damian does. It only ticks off Jon more, honestly. “Don’t you feel--? It’s gross!”

“There’s not gross about you,” Damian says, presses a cheek against Jon’s wet nipple so hard that a bit of milk leaks out again. Jon squirms, but Damian pinches it, licking the newly dribbled milk. “You will feed our child well.”

“I hate you,” Jon says, clenching his eyes and refusing to look at Damian suck his breast, though he feels it well enough.

Damian bites his nipple, and the way his lips are formed, Jon can feel him smiling. “Happy to hear it.”

-

Damian does his best to control the media from making a big deal about his and Jon’s pregnancy, but there’s no hiding it once Jon hits six months. His belly full with Damian’s seed and his chest full with the means to provide for their child, practically every new media outlet has picked up on the latest scandal in the superhero universe.

 _‘Superboy Scandal!’_ the newspaper headline had read, even as Kon flattened it and said it was a load of bull since it was referring to Jon and not himself.

It’s not like Jon wants the extra attention. Being stopped by paparazzi, unable to fly anywhere, having no superhero clothes that _fit him_. It doesn’t matter, Jon hates it all. The awe and wonder of bringing a new life into the world faded around the third month when the heartburn and gas flared up.

“You can take all the credit,” Jon said at the time, though Kon glaring at him while holding his new baby to his chest did nothing to help Jon’s current predicament. He barely feels like he can breathe in peace anymore.

The worst of it all is waking up in the morning to find the homemade lunch Jon prepared for Damian sitting untouched on the counter. Jon sighs and wraps the lunch into the Hello Kitty lunch bag be bought for Damian as a joke years ago. He knows it isn’t Damian’s fault with Damian as stressed about Jon’s pregnancy as Jon is carrying their child, but it’s still a bit disappointing to see his hard work ignored. The baby decided to play soccer with his bladder yesterday, but Jon pushed through, hoping that the little meal might make Damian’s day a little bit better. He was always forgetting to eat whenever it came to business anyway.  

It’s part need and part hormone-induced-insecurity that makes Jon waddle his way toward the Wayne Industries building with the Hello Kitty bag in hand, doing his best to pass and keep covert. It’s not like he isn’t used to it after years of dating Damian and he could have very well asked Kon or his dad or even the Batman himself to run the little favor, but he also knows that Damian could just grab lunch at one of the nearby bars. Jon sighs and tries not to let his skin crawl when he thinks about some conventionally attractive, _skinny_ waiter serving Damian.

He makes it past security well enough, everybody in the loop to protect Jon or completely ignorant and having to deal with him at face value, but Jon doesn’t mind. He holds Damian’s lunch while waiting the entire ride up to the top-floor, nervously planning how he’s going to explain to Damian why he’s there. Damian’s been nesting worse than Jon has and always stresses out so much that his entire face goes red whenever Jon says he left the house by himself.

“I’m _pregnant,_ ” Jon said after the first time Damian started ranting a list of all the terrible things that could have happened to him, “not immobile.”

Now that Jon’s in Damian’s building and even taking two steps felt like a chore, he might as well be. Still, he does his best to keep his head held high as he makes his way past Damian’s subordinates. They all have their heads lowered in their work, but he hears the whispers; he doesn’t need to have superhearing to catch the one girl by the water cooler saying, “the boss is crazy for trying that experimental surgery. It’s not natural, you know? -- Oh crap, he’s looking this way.”

Jon’s ready to slump in Damian’s embrace and forget what a freak everybody thinks he is. It’s not his fault Kryptonian biology has failed the Kent family, though he suspects there’s a bit to be grateful about how discreet Damian’s subordinates have been -- even if their judgement was not.

Before he can get to Damian and his wonderful arms that make Jon feel safe and secure when he’s wrapped in them, he’s accosted by one of Damian’s investors. Jon swallows and curses his luck; the investor with the crooked smile is his least favorite. Jon’s been hinting that Damian should take his business elsewhere, even if it doesn’t make logical sense. Money can always be made, but character is a completely different story, at least according to Jon.

“It’s been awhile, Mr. Mahoney,” Jon says, polite though curt.

“Has it really only been five months?”

“Six, actually.”

“Wow, I can tell. You look like you’re ready to pop!” the man says, smiling so wide that Jon can see the remains of the salad he had for lunch caught between his teeth.

“I feel like it.” Jon’s honest about that, actually, even if he finds the reference to his size incredibly insulting.

“And there’s still three more to go. Hang in there!” The investor says, patting Jon’s shoulder and then walking away with a high-pitched laugh. It makes Jon’s insides curl bitterly.

“Nice seeing you,” Jon says, not that the investor can hear his final farewells. He holds his breath and grunts a little from where the baby’s kicking. He pats his stomach against the patch of skin, nodding. “Yes, yes. We’re going to see baba now. Just a bit longer.”

Jonn immediately collapses at Damian’s desk once he’s inside the office. It’s been less than twenty minutes since he left the house and Jon feels _exhausted._ His emotions are all mixed up from hormones and the gossip and the backhanded compliments and-- the newspaper, apparently.

Jon snatches it from where Damian obviously left it, frowning. There’s a candid of him from the side, where an arrow points to his bump as though it’s stabbing him, and a headline with, ‘alien or abomination?’ It takes seconds until Jon rips the paper into little shreds, two holes burnt in the headline from where he saw red.

“Stress isn’t good for the baby,” Damian reminds. Jon should be used to it after years of being with Damian, but he still jolts at the feel of Damian’s warm breath suddenly against his neck. “What are you doing out? I thought I told you how dangerous it is for you to be walking around.”

“You forgot your lunch,” Jon explains, slamming the Hello Kitty bag on the table with more force than is necessary. It leaves a little dent in Damian’s perfect, cherry-stained desk, but he says nothing about the new imperfection. It doesn’t matter; Damian doesn’t even _sound_ insulted, and Jon knows he’s heard what his subordinates say about him, what his investor thinks, and _definitely_ what that newspaper printed. “And I’m not a pet to be kept! I can manage just fine-- just fine--”

Jon exhales thickly through his nose and his palms grip Damian’s armrests so hard that they crack. He’s a grown adult who can manage just fine, he reassures himself, eyes clenched from how utterly _humiliating_ this is. He’s only six months pregnant and he is stuck in Damian’s chair.

“I know you can, beloved,” Damian says gently, prying Jon’s fingers off and helping Jon to his feet. He doesn’t quirk the faintest of smiles, tone even and gentle. “And _thank you_. I appreciate the effort,” he says, gesturing to his ridiculous lunch box, “but I worry about you.”

“I can tell because you’re trying _so_ hard to stop all those rumors,” Jon spits. No sooner than on his feet, he pushes Damian away and begins to waddle out angrily.

“I’m trying to keep you _safe_ ,” Damian says once Jon reaches the door. Jon has the handle turned halfway when Damian speaks up again. “Oh, and by the way? I’m terminating any worker that participated in that rumor mill, breaking off that investment deal, and buying this company to shut it down. All of this, I promise to you by the end of the day.”

Jon watches Damian casually rattle off his intentions while tapping the remains of the newspaper delicately, and Jon blames the hormones for his eyes being itchy with tears.

“I hate you,” Jon says in the small, choked voice he’s been getting used to since the mood swings hit.

“Happy to hear that,” Damian fires back, smirking.

-

“I hate you,” Jon moans, rolling onto his back. It’s no good; the baby starts to kick even harder, and Jon rolls onto his other side. No matter how much he rubs his stomach, what position he tries to sleep in, the baby won’t stop kicking. “Damian? Did you hear me? I said I hate you.”

“Happy to hear it,” Damian mumbles in his sleep. Jon lets his head fall back and groans. Of course the one time he needs Damian, Damian is asleep. Jon can’t even be mad since he knows how little Damian sleeps already. Hell, Jon is just happy that Damian is sleeping at all.

“You’re just like your daddy,” he scolds the bump. It’s painful and annoying and Jon has never wanted to sleep on his stomach more than he does at seven months, but honestly Jon couldn’t be happier; he _knows_ it’s worth it, that it will be worth all the pain and sleepless nights and future sleepless nights once he has his bundle of joy in his arms, but until then, he wants to moan and sigh and make Damian rub his swollen feet.

Damian shifts beside him and already Jon feels guilt settle in. Damian’s arm wraps around Jon’s bump and he pets where their child is very rambunctiously trying to dance.

“Don’t apologize,” Damian says swiftly just as Jon opens his mouth. “I _want_ to go through this with you, okay? Just…try to settle down, and the baby will too.”

Jon moans a little bit, but Damian’s palm is warm and he’s right. Damian presses against Jon’s back and breathes slowly and deeply against his neck. Jon closes his eyes and allows the heaviness of sleep to take him. The last he hears is Damian lowly humming and whispering sweet sentiments to their unborn child.

-

“Dawn’s a pretty name. Depending on how we spell it, it could work for a boy too,” Jon offers, rubbing his stomach. While Damian’s been great handling Jon’s moods, cravings, and practically every other aspect of Jon’s pregnancy, they’ve purposefully been avoiding this topic. At first Jon didn’t understand why, but now that he and Damian have been fighting over names for the past two weeks, he’s starting to understand.

When Damian looks over the hologram pad he’s reading League messages from, Jon knows exactly what to expect. “I am _not_ giving our child an insipid name like that. We will name her something inspired. Something like…Lamia, perhaps.”

While Jon finds the way Damian cocks his head and stares at his baby bump as though he can actually see their child, he can’t help but roll his eyes. “That sounds _old_. If she’s a girl--”

“I’m certain she will be.”

“Fine! Whatever! We’re not giving her a grandma name!”

Jon’s taken to rubbing his stomach instead of crossing his arms lately, but it doesn’t help with his perpetual frustration at Damian’s commitment to _not_ know the sex of their baby. Jon’s known since he began to gestating, but Damian refused any doctor to tell him during check-ups and asked Jon to not give anything away. Not like it would be such a shocker, given that Damian’s already convinced they’re going to have a little girl.

“Ridiculous,” Damian mutters beneath his breath. He sets the hologram down and begins to pout. “It’s a beautiful name. It means radiant.”

“Like _Dawn_ ,” Jon points out. Damian merely scoffs at the response. “Come on, just _try_ to work with me! We don’t have much time before the baby is here and we don’t have names for him--”

“Or her.”

“ _Or her_ yet!”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss over this,” Damian says before taking a sip of his coffee and passing the hologram to Jon. “I’ve already compiled a list of the top fifty best options for either gender. And since you _insisted_ , I’ve compiled a third list of satisfactory gender-neutral names, though I’m certain we won’t need it.”

Jon scans the hologram just because he knows it makes Damian happy, but he groans. “When I said I liked the name Taylor, that wasn’t me asking you to put another list together! Look, we have over a hundred names here and no idea what we’re going to call the little sprout.”

“Hm.” Damian hums in agreement, which brings them one step closer to maybe figuring out what to call their baby today. “Fine. We’ll do it together. Tell me which names you like best from the lists and we can negotiate. Although I will warn you: I refuse to give our child a name that doesn’t make any sense when translated into the native language, so carefully inspect each description I’ve provided.”

“You’re so extra,” Jon mumbles beneath his breath.

“I heard that,” Damian instantly snaps.

Jon sticks out his tongue unapologetically, but he begins to read the list. It’s not like all the options are terrible. Amber is familiar and Amina sounds quite beautiful when he whispers it out loud. “There are some nice ones in here.”

“They’re all beautiful names,” Damian corrects.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jon scrolls through the lists a little while longer before handing the hologram back to his boyfriend. “I like Zara for a girl. And Omar for a boy?”

Damian’s eyes narrow. “Don’t sound so unsure when you decide the name of our child.”

“It’s just-- Not many of these names are familiar to me, okay? It’s hard to connect with a name that doesn’t feel personal.” Jon sighs and curses the day he let Damian convince him that having sex _one time_ without a condom would be perfectly fine.

“The rest of your vapid family already has claims on family names,” Damian points out, “and I have no intention of continuing my grandfather’s legacy.”

“I know what vapid means, dummy,” Jon says a bit harshly, but he’s already reaching for his phone. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to call Kon and if he doesn’t recognize a name, it’s no longer in the running.”

“Toss out my entire list while you’re at it,” Damian bitterly grumbles, but he doesn’t refuse, so Jon continues to dial his -- cousin? Brother? Half-Kryptonian sibling. Kon’s been through a pregnancy with a Bat before, so Jon considers him the safest one to ask.

“What’s up?” Kon asks immediately after picking up. Jon switches the phone to speaker and sets it between him and Damian. He watches Damian’s expression become a little softer at the muffled cries in the background, and Kon’s laughter. “Sorry about that. Jack says hi, apparently. It’s nap time but _some_ body doesn’t wanna be a good boy and sleep.”

“Damian and I are trying to figure out baby names right now,” Jon says, leaning over the table a little bit. “Say hi to Tim and Jack for me, by the way.”

“Wow,” Kon says and then whistles. “Kinda late to be figuring that out with your baby daddy, isn’t it?”

“Do _not_ refer to me as a baby daddy,” Damian threatens.

“Hey, brat. Me and Tim are doing well, thanks for asking.” Kon’s sighs loudly and Jack continues to babble in the background. “Alright, what names were you thinking of?”

“Well… We have a lot to choose from, not gonna lie.”

“Sure, I got time. Tim was the same way.” Jon points a firm I-told-you-so look, but Damian looks away, insulted to be compared to his unwanted sibling. “Lay ‘em on me.”

“Okay, let’s see here. For the boys, we got--”

“Start with the girls,” Damian says impatiently.

“Okay, geez.”

 _“Oooh,”_ Kon hums, and Jon can practically see him smiling on the other side of the line. “Daddy thinks it’s going to be a girl?”

“I _know_ she is,” Damian corrects. “And don’t act so chummy with me, clone.”

 _“Anyway_ , _”_ Jon cuts in, knowing how these two fight. “As I just told Damian, I like Zara. And Rayna.”

“Pretty,” Kon agrees, completely ignoring Damian’s remarks. Damian lifts his brows, and this time he’s the one making the I-told-you-so face. “Z names might be hard for her as a baby though.”

“Nonsense. She will be fluent in all of the world’s major languages by the time she’s two,” Damian insists.

“Okay, well, all I’m saying is that Tim said the same thing and we’re still working on Hindi. So like, just consider it?”

“Hmph.”

 _“Focus,”_ Jon mouths to Damian, snapping soundlessly to capture his attention. “Anyway back to names: Laila, Naja, Basil--”

“Whoa, whoa,” Kon says, and Jon’s not sure if he’s saying it to him or Jack, quite honestly. “ _Basil?_ Like the herb?”

“It means ‘kingly’ in Greek,” Damian says as if it’s everyday common knowledge. Jon begins to laugh, a full bodied one that makes everything move and hurt, but it’s worth it. Damian looks so genuinely _confused_ by Kon’s reaction.

“And in English it means, ‘sits on a spice rack.’”

Jon can’t help it because his laughing only becomes harder at Damian’s wordless reaction. When he frowns from being insulted -- truly insulted -- his face is so ugly, and it’s one of the things Jon loves best about him. “It’s a royal name, you uncultured swine.”

“Hey, you wanted my opinion and you got it! Just make sure not to name the baby Cinnamon as a second name. You don’t want your Baby Spice to literally become a Spice Girl.”

“Basil is a _boy’s_ name,” Damian says dryly.

“Your baby boy is a Spice Girl!” Kon shouts, and Jon loses it. He laughs out fully, holding his stomach and starting to cry a little bit from laughing so hard.

Once Damian’s stopped gaping at the phone and remembered what words are, he fires back: “The Spice Girls had worldwide fame, just like our child shall have!”

Jon starts howling because Damian looks as shocked at himself for saying it as Kon starts laughing like a hyena. Angrily, Damian scratches his face, clearly trying to restrategize, but it’s no good. Jon’s laughing so hard and his stomach hurts and--

 _“Oh.”_ Jon sits perfectly upright, laughter immediately stopping. “Uh…”

“You okay there, Jonno?” Kon’s voice sounds concerned.

“I-- Um.” Even Damian is starting to watch Jon carefully, eyes tracking throughout his entire body to pinpoint the problem. “I… I need to go, Kon.”

“You okay? If it’s about your baby, I don’t think he’ll _really_ become a Spice Girl--”

“It’s not about the baby! I’m fine! Bye!” Jon snaps, grabbing the phone and snapping it shut. He looks up desperately at Damian, squirming as much as he can when held down by their baby. “I-- I need to you to look the other way. Right now.”

“What is it?” Damian asks, genuinely worried now, and he’s already rising from his seat.

“Nothing!” Jon squeaks, trying to press himself closer to the table and out of Damian’s view. “Just trust me and look the other way!”

“Tell me what it is,” Damian demands, and Jon knows there’s no keeping it secret when Damian tugs on his shoulders to make Jon face him. “I don’t understand. There’s nothing wron-- _Oh.”_

“Don’t even say anything!” Jon cries out, hot tears already staining his cheeks. Damian looks just as lost, hands still firmly planted on his shoulder as he stares between Jon’s legs. Jon doesn’t have to look down to know what Damian’s staring at. He can _feel_ it.

“I-It’s,” Damian begins, but he coughs and starts again, weakly offering: “It’s fine. This happens sometimes. You shouldn’t be ashamed--”

“I peed my pants from laughing so hard, okay!? Don’t even try to cheer me up!” Jon yells, squirming uncomfortably and wanting to disappear from embarrassment. Jon feels small and humiliated and he loves this baby but he hates what this baby is doing to his body. “I hate you!”

Damian scoops Jon into his arms and kisses his forehead. He heeds Jon’s outburst, but dutifully carries him to the bathroom. When Damian takes charge like this and doesn’t try to patronize him, it makes Jon feel like everything will be alright. Jon knows he’s never going to live this down, but at least he feels safe in Damian’s arms. “I’m happy to hear it. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

-

 _“I_ hate you,” Jon says when the contractions begin.

“I _hate_ you,” Jon says as he’s waiting to fully dilate, now regretting his decision not to have a c-section.

“I hate _you,”_ Jon says while he’s in labor, wishing there was a drug strong enough to work as an anesthetic on him.

Damian holds his hand the entire time, not even flinching when Jon screams and grips the bed’s railing so hard that is breaks. “You’re doing wonderfully. You only have a little bit more.”

“One more push!” The doctor says, and Jon pushes even as he’s wishing for death. He reminds himself of their little boy and keeps pushing until he hears the baby screaming. “Here the baby comes! Good job. One down, one more to go.”

“One more?” Jon asks in a ragged voice, looking between his legs straight at the doctor. _“What?”_

“Twins,” the doctor says idly, eyebrows knit together a little bit. “Didn’t your doctor tell you?”

Jon clenches his eyes shut and lets his head hits the delivery bed again. “I hate you _so_ much right now.”

 _“Twins,”_ Damian breathes. He squeezes Jon’s hand assuredly, but his gaze is nothing but reverent. “I’m so happy to hear it…”

-

“How could you _not_ know?” Damian asks, several hours of sleep and fawning over their new children later. He’s refused to let them out of his arms unless the babies need to feed, but through a stroke of fate, Jon’s wrestled both twins into his arms right now.

“Kon said it was a Kryptonian thing! That jerk, he knew the entire time…” Jon sighs deeply. As embarrassed as he is about the whole ordeal, he’s glad it’s over and he has not one but two beautiful children as a result of it. It’s hard to be mad when he’s so happy that he’d be flying around in circles if he wasn’t so darn tired.

“But surely you felt them kick or heard their heartbeats,” Damian asks, petting their son’s hair. Jon quirks a grin, happy they didn’t go with the name Basil. He’d never be able to hear the name -- or word -- without feeling embarrassed for the rest of his life.

“My hearing’s not that good -- yet.” Jon fusses over the babies as their little arms reach out and tug on his hair. He smiles, unbothered by the action at all. “And I just thought the kid took after _you!”_

“They obviously take after you,” Damian says, petting their little heads so carefully, like they’re glass and may break at his touch. “They’re too beautiful to take after me.”

“Sap,” Jon mutters, a bit sentimentally, but he’s happily watching Damian smile at their children. And rub their little puffy cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. He sees the overwhelming joy there, but he knows what sadness is close to the surface, the worries Damian has about family. “You’re going to make a great dad.”

“I wonder,” Damian begins, but clamps his mouth shut immediately and pulls back both of his hands. He breathes in unsteadily, a rare moment of vulnerability open for Jon to see. “I’ve failed you. I should have courted and married you before you bore my children. How can I trust myself to be a father when everything is backwards?”

Jon hums and rests both babies on one of his arms, reaching out for Damian’s hand. He doesn’t squeeze back in Jon’s grip, but he doesn’t push him away either. “Hey, cut that out. We may not be married, but both of us knew we’d be here eventually, right? So what if things happened a little out of order. Consider me courted already. Courted, then babies, then marriage. It’s fine, right?”

“You are truly something else,” Damian eventually breathes out harshly, but he smiles through it, one that doesn’t quite believe in himself but believes in Jon. He takes a seat on the bed and brings Jon’s hand to his face, kissing the knuckles. “My beloved.”

“I love you,” Jon breathes, hugging both of his children to his chest and leaning up to kiss his boyfriend on the lips.

Damian kisses Jon and then both foreheads of his children. “Happy to hear it.”


End file.
